Life — November 20, 1884 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

of society. Suddenly a commanding voice from the interior of the cab brought its clattering wheels to a standstill, and the panting horse stopped breathless at Isabelle’s side. She however, was all unconscious of its nauseating nearness, for at the sound of that voice she experienced a relapse of her former ailment. The voice was that of Stuyvesant Van Kneebreeches ! No wonder, then, the blue blood in her veins overpowered her. A scion of one of New York’s oldest and most Trustee-ed families, and her accepted suitor, patronized an ochre vehicle! * * * * * * * The Cunard steamer, Gudbydia, sailed: for Liverpool two days later, and Isabelle Gramercy’s name was on the list of passengers. The following morning Stuyvesant Van Knee- breeches received an envelope from the pilot, who remarked when he handed it over : “A youngish lady gin me the letter, sir, just as I was a climbin’ the rail! She also wished me to hand you this box.” Hastily opening the envelope, Stuyvesant read : S. S. GuDBYDIA, off Bartholdi Pedestal. Mr. STUYVESANT VAN KNEEBREECHES: I write to teli you that you may consider yourself a free man. I might have overlooked the peculiar financial methods of your family, but when you disgrace me and mine by in- dulging in your depraved taste for cheapcabism I can no longer consent to call myself yours. I return your presents. ISABELLE GRAMERCY. “Ha!” said Stuyvesant. “’Tis well. I see by to-day’s paper that Bustem & Grynne have failed and the Gramercy stock has fallen twenty points! Stuyvesant, me boy, you ‘re a lucky fellow.” He then opened the box, and finding therein all the presents he had given to Isabelle, he sat down and wrote his tailor promising to settle as soon as he could realize upon some lately acquired collateral. This done, Stuyuesant drew out all the bank’s balance, en- tered it as a loan to Shearum & Co., of Wall street, and took the night express for Quebec, where he is a leading social fa- vorite. J. K. BANGs, A NEW PICTURE OF HAWTHORNE. T is twenty years since Hawthorne died and his son Julian has just given the public an adequate memorial of the great romancer,—‘ Nathaniel Hawthorne, and his wife,” 2 vols. (J. R. Osgood & Co.). Heretofore Hawthorne’s own “Note Books” have been the best sources for accurate knowledge of his intellectual life, giving frequent glimpses of the working of his imagination, and indeed, containing the germs of most of his stories. While you read you feel that 287 you are in the presence of a mysterious alchemist who is work- ing wonders, and transforming vague fancies into golden thoughts. And, in fact, most people think of Hawthorne as a great Wizard, who dwelt above the sphere of human sym- pathies. * * * UT this latest biography scatters the mists and presents us with a clear view of the man Hawthorne, who lived among men, who loved and struggled, succeeded and died, The attentive reader will not be disappointed or disillusion- ized, for the man Hawthorne is so much greater and more lovable than the Wizard. It is a relief to know that the sombre moralist of ‘The Scarlet Letter” was a good hand at cards when at college, loved to go shooting with Horatio Bridge, occasionally ran short of funds and wrote home for “more ” with all the tact of a well-seasoned Sophomore. * * * ND one is persuaded that a genius is very like an ordi- nary mortal when he reads that Hawthorne was woe- fully deceived by a wily coquette, and almost persuaded to fight a duel And then his love romance! It is so very human and yet so beautiful. All the magic of his melodious prose is revealed in the letters which were written for no eyes but ers. * * * ET us hear no more of Hawthorne as a morbid, un- healthy genius. This biography reveals, in the bright sunlight, a strong, vigorous life, sweet and pure. He saw deep into the mysteries of life and the solemnity of them was over him. He wrote, as he once said, in a “clear, brown, twi- light atmosphere,” and over all was what George Eliot has so beautifully termed “a calm vividness, like flowers at even- tide.” But he wrote not in the starless night, under black clouds and heavy mists. BOOKS RECEIVED. THE Old-fashioned Fairy Book, by Mrs. Burton Harrison; itlustrated by Miss Rosina Emmet. Sons, N. Y. John Rantoul, by Henry Loomis Nelson. James R. Osgood & Co., Boston, Charles Scribner's FOOT-BALL. HE season for opening our Educational Institutions being at hand leads us to present to our readers some impressions of the Foot-ball field, which we think all who have witnessed the contests between the enlightened gentle- men comprising the teams of Yale, Harvard and Princeton on past Thanksgiving Days cannot fail to appreciate. It is not generally known that the games of this season are to be played under an entirely new and revised set of rules which will add zest to all the contests. The intention of the players to mangle one another to the full extent of their power is not veiled in pleasant platitudes as in past years, but is amply provided for in the rules, and matters are now so arranged that any team which goes through the season without at least an average of one cold- blooded murder per game loses all claims to prestige. comicbooks.com